


Desideratum

by 1478963255



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Sex, Banter, Boys Kissing, Confessions, Falling In Love, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Gay, Gay Sex, Internal Conflict, Kissing, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Nervousness, Passion, Porn with plot???, Priest Kink, Priests, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Smut, Unbeta'd we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:20:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23059135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1478963255/pseuds/1478963255
Summary: Seteth is conflicted. Following their passionate night in the cathedral, his mind is overcome with Byleth and how his feelings for his archbishop delve far beyond what is appropriate for a priest and his prelate. But when Byleth returns his feelings, can Seteth push aside his own reservations and allow himself to fall in love?M/M relationship. Love confessions, first time, intimate, passionate, internal conflict.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Seteth
Comments: 19
Kudos: 146





	Desideratum

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a hot minute since I last wrote something. This piece has literally been in the works for the last month. I've been busy with work and stuff which meant this was delayed and I just couldn't find it in myself to write the end so, apologies if that part seems rushed. I also seem incapable of writing anything below 10k words anymore, rip, sorry.
> 
> This is technically a continuation of another piece, [ 'Enlightenment',](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22426801) but you don't necessarily have to read it before you read this piece. However, if you enjoy or did enjoy this one, I would appreciate it if you gave 'Enlightenment' a quick peek.
> 
> Any feedback is greatly appreciated; comments, kudos and so forth. Thank you!

Seteth had never taken on so much paperwork in his life.

He tried to busy himself, to distract himself from the whirlwind of thoughts that raced through his mind each and every single day. Such petty and trivial thoughts and emotions had no place during war, and he had to dedicate every ounce of his effort to finding Rhea, protecting Flayn, and assisting the professor Byleth.

_Ah. Byleth._

The source of his torment. That beautiful enigma of a man, still as mysterious and indecipherable since the day they first met, now practically a God. Against his own wishes, Seteth was more drawn to the man than ever. He couldn’t forget the pained and anguished expression that clung to Byleth’s beautiful face that night in the cathedral, torn with grief and pleading for answers, forgiveness, respite, _anything_. Seteth couldn’t erase from his mind the way Byleth had pleaded with him with red-rimmed eyes and a tear-marked face, stunning in his emotional agony.

The priest groaned and rubbed the pads of his fingers deeper into his temple, gripping his quill a fraction tighter in his right hand, frowning deeply.

No. _No_. He couldn’t let himself be overcome with emotion when his mind had to be elsewhere. He had to finish ordering next month’s supplies; a single mistake could cost the cathedral unnecessary loss – both regarding lives and money.

A stack of unfinished papers sat atop his desk. They had been neglected for years, collecting a thick layer of dust in his absence and his finger left a clean river when he ran the digit through the soot. In all truth, they had little importance now; reviews of teaching staff, disciplinary actions to be taken against unruly students, lists of small repairs for rusty hinges and blocked pipes that, in comparison to the destruction of the church now, seemed laughable. But Seteth tried to convince himself that they needed to be filled out and filed away. He knew it was futile, to try and busy himself when he knew that these documents were worthless but willed himself to stay locked in his office.

Weeks had passed since his encounter with Byleth in the cathedral. That night, Seteth did not find the professor despite his searching. He was not in the bathhouse, his old dormitory room, nor even the training grounds. He could only assume he had gone properly to bed in his new room, Rhea’s old bedroom, atop his office and Seteth dared not take the stairs up to check if the door was locked because he knew he would not be able to resist knocking and pushing on the polished gold handle. As he lay in his bed that night, he could not help but imagine how Byleth might be asleep. Would be sleep contentedly? Blissed out from his orgasm and at peace with himself? Or would he still be tormented, that melancholic smile engraved deeply into Seteth’s mind when the flourish of the scarlet curtain eclipsed Byleth’s face that night.

Seteth had not been sleeping well. He tossed and turned at night. He never was a great sleeper, but even so, his few hours of rest were now plagued by Byleth, a complicated cacophony of nightmares and dreams. He saw him smiling happily, green hair shining radiantly. He saw him tormented and screaming to the heavens in pain in the centre of a bloodied battlefield. He saw him twisted and writhing in pleasure against sweat-soaked bedsheets. He saw him pierced by a wall of arrows sinking into his beautifully pale, but now bloodied skin.

The quill fell to the desk and Seteth rubbed at his temples again. He would not – _could not_ – concentrate like this. He conceded to himself; he was overcome. Something else had to be done.

Seteth pushed up from his desk, chair groaning as it slid back against the floor and the priest turned to face his window. It was midday, a beautifully sunny day during the Pegasus Moon; sharp with cold but the sun still shone eagerly upon the ruins of the cathedral. Merchants and church servants milled about the grounds beneath Seteth’s gaze, tending to plants, fishing, unboxing supplies, talking happily as if there were not a war raging in the distance. He could spy some heads of hair that he recognised as old students: lavender, navy blue and the purest white. He smiled to himself.

It was because of Byleth that the students were here. It was because of him that they were _alive_. When they met the students of the other houses and factions, long lost to war and merely acting upon their duty, it was Byleth who stood with a lance, an arrow or magic aimed at his throat and offered a calm hand. It was Byleth who reached out and offered their former students a chance to stop fighting _against_ each other and start fighting _with_ each other. It was Byleth who drew them into a warm embrace and welcomed them back to the cathedral. It was Byleth.

It was _always_ Byleth.

Gnawing at his lower-lip, Seteth turned away from the window. Even as he gazed outwards with the current archbishop nowhere in sight, he couldn’t help but think of the other man. How he plagued his thoughts. He was consumed and conflicted. Even Flayn saw his inner struggle.

Seteth liked to think he was an honest man. Certainly, it was a given that he was honest with other people, but over time he began to think that perhaps it was the hardest thing, to be honest with himself.

Admitting he was wrong for keeping Flayn from having friends and joining in with the students at the monastery all those years ago was one of the biggest and most difficult mistakes he had to admit to himself. He realised far too late how badly he was hurting Flayn, not only by damaging her social skills but also their relationship. It had always been difficult and Seteth had oftentimes caught himself before spilling out the word ‘daughter’ in front of others. Their relationship had become strained, but the war, in a strange and morbid sense, had freed them. They were more open with one another and he realised that Flayn needed friends. For herself.

Of course, he couldn’t allow Flayn to become friends with anyone. He was going to allow her to have friends, but only with those he deemed appropriate. How funny then, that he surmised the most suitable class for Flayn to join was Byleth’s house.

He was wary, initially, seeing Byleth around his daughter. But he saw how brightly Flayn smiled, laughed and sang not only with the professor but with the other students. And then he saw how Flayn brought out the best in the professor.

Her gentle mannerisms, careful touches and hard-working attitude seemed to mesh well with Byleth’s own mysterious personality. The two worked closely, teaching one another what they knew about magic and although Seteth was initially horrified to hear that Flayn had been practising some dark magic, she eventually convinced him that it was for her own safety. He conceded. She was right. He couldn’t shelter her forever.

And who else could have been a better teacher than Byleth?

Seteth rubbed his palm against his forehead, feeling the cold gold of his circlet against his hand. He sighed again. Byleth plagued his mind. He was unshakable, like an illness – _no_ , not an illness. Seteth never wanted him gone. He wanted Byleth for as long as possible. He wanted Byleth to stay as long as he would allow. The professor was like… the summer’s sun upon Seteth’s pale skin. He was like a cool breeze through his hair. He was… _everything._

The priest grumbled again. _How inappropriate_ , he thought to himself, _to be consumed by such frivolously romantic thoughts_. And yet his heart ached for the other green-haired man.

A soft knock came at his door and he recognised it immediately. Three gentle raps evenly spaced out.

“Come in,” he called out, throat suddenly dry.

A crown of mint coloured hair appeared in the doorway, bowed in politeness, bright green eyes averted to the ground as he pushed into the room. The door clicked softly shut behind the archbishop and Byleth lifted his gaze. He looked up at Seteth and smiled his lop-sided smile. His lips were thin but still pink and Seteth shamefully remembered how swollen they had become when they had last kissed.

“Seteth,” Byleth said.

 _His voice_. How beautiful his voice still was; so gentle and breathy, like feathers in the wind. Seteth met the professor’s gaze and attempted his most professional nod and smile.

“Archbishop. How has your day been?”

“Pleasant enough,” the archbishop said, sweeping the tips of his fingers against the bangs of his hair threatening to poke into his eyes. He swept them to the side, but they just fell back into place. He was still dressed in his archbishop’s garb, having not changed after the countless meetings he had that morning. He stepped away from the door of Seteth’s office and took a seat upon the plush scarlet lounge chair, crossing one leg over the other.

Seteth’s eyes were immediately drawn to the pale expanse of Byleth’s calf as he crossed his legs. The white gown slipped away to the sides as he sat upon the chair and he couldn’t help the way his eyes greedily drank in the skin revealed to him. It was not scandalous and certainly not obscene, the pale flash of Byleth’s calf – and yet, it was shamefully erotic.

“How were the Sreng ambassadors?”

“As stubborn as ever,” Byleth huffed, resting his head against the back of his closed fist, eyes sliding shut.

Seteth smiled to himself. He knew that the parties of Sreng had long been difficult in pacifying, particularly now that the call to war had them eager for bloodshed.

“Without House Gautier to help defend the border, I am afraid that northern Faerghus might fall… which would be devastating to us at this point in the war,” Byleth said, worrying his lip between his teeth. Seteth folded his arms behind his back firmly and stood, back straightened as best as possible.

“Will Sylvain not return to his territory?”

Byleth shook his head. “Of course not. He wants little to do with his father and wants only to aid us in our fight.” Byleth shrugged. “I cannot blame him and I, honestly, appreciate him joining us. He is invaluable.”

“But would he not also be invaluable by protecting us from the warlords of Sreng? If they are unagreeable as you say, they could attack any day.”

Byleth shook his head, smiling to himself. “No. I think Sylvain’s place is with us. Sending him away to do what he does not wish to do would do no-one any favours.”

“… I see.” Seteth was quiet and his lips pursed tightly before he spoke again. “Then we allow northern Faerghus to fall?”

Byleth hummed to himself. “I am still thinking of other possibilities. I do not wish to weaken our strength by sending away some of our best fighters… I will attempt to contact the kingdom of Fhirdiad where I hear the royal court mage Lady Cornelia has taken up power.”

Seteth bristled slightly, his voice low. “This is the same woman who condemned Lord Dimitri to death.”

Byleth nodded solemnly, moving to fold his arms over his chest instead as he reclined in the comfortable seat. “Yes. Though I believe she too does not wish to lose Faerghus to the warlords of Sreng. Perhaps she will be agreeable to an alliance against Sreng,” a pause, “for the time being.”

“… and then?”

Byleth shrugged and a smile toyed across his lips. “I _may_ have a plan.”

Seteth frowned and his lips tightened even further. Although he was against saying it, he could ignore it no longer. “Forgive me, archbishop, but you would readily forge an alliance with Lady Cornelia and risk our soldiers?”

Byleth opened his eyes and locked his emerald gaze with Seteth. His eyes were bright, glistening with a hard and steely look of determination, an aura of strength emanating from a man seated comfortably and patiently. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “I do not believe it to be a risk. Should Lady Cornelia attack, we will be ready. _I_ will be ready.”

The priest huffed a laugh. “You have been planning this… all along?”

“Of course. Ever since the Sreng ambassadors' reluctance for peace. What kind of strategist would I be if I did not?”

Seteth rubbed a hand down his face. _Amazing. Truly amazing._ Just how long had Byleth been planning this? A temporary alliance to not only defend Fhirdiad against the crazed people of Sreng but an ancillary attack to reclaim the capital of Faerghus… news of the Sreng uprising had not long reached the ears of the cathedral. A knowing look danced across Byleth’s face and from behind his hand, Seteth could just about make out an expression that perhaps bordered on playfulness.

“Archbishop… you truly are… an enigma,” Seteth laughed, shaking his head, re-taking his seat at his desk and looking across it at Byleth. The green-haired man laughed quietly behind his hand and smiled back at Seteth. He was still so beautiful, even with the sun’s rays dancing in and glittering across his beautiful pale skin. Seteth remembered how he looked stunning in the silver moonlight but now, in the golden glow of the sun, he looked truly radiant.

“How are the students?” Seteth asked, trying to shake himself from his stupor.

“They are all well.”

“And Ferdinand? Lorenz?”

Byleth nodded. “Yes, they too are doing well.”

The archbishop was giving him very little information. It was certainly intentional. “Forgive me for prying but… please, tell me how they are. I care for their wellbeing too.”

Byleth’s face fell slightly and his lips tightened once more. He hunched forward in his seat planting his feet firmly against the floor and leaned his elbows against his knees, wringing his fingers over one another somewhat pensively. He focused on the floor ahead of himself, instead of looking at Seteth.

“They are… readjusting to monastery life. It seems years under Edelgard’s reign has warped their minds slightly. They still believe us to be the enemy… they believe they are prisoners here, despite their freedom.” Byleth paused. “Ferdinand’s face when I lowered my sword and extended my hand… I shall never forget that expression.” He tightened his fingers over one another and Seteth saw the white anxious tension bleeding through his knuckles. “That terrified and bewildered look upon his face when he saw my hand and not my blade extended towards him… but his _eyes_ , Seteth. There was something in those eyes akin to fear and yet… I cannot describe it; it is too difficult…”

Seteth hesitated. “Acceptance.”

Byleth’s eyes slid shut as if hearing the word hurt. A long exhale came through his long, pointed nose and he nodded slowly. “Yes… acceptance, perhaps. As if he were resigned to the idea that he would die on that battlefield, on that day, to _my_ blade…”

Silence filled the room and Seteth felt like he was suffocating in it. The words tumbling from Byleth’s mouth brought back moon-lit memories of his night in the confessional booth with the archbishop, how the other man had unleashed all of the pain in his heart to him. He had that same expression on his face now; crest-fallen, etched with anxiety and worry as if he were haunted by something he was not letting on.

“I…” Byleth continued. “I can only dread to imagine what would have happened… had Dimitri reached him before me…” The archbishop shuddered violently and practically recoiled, his toes curling in his golden sandals, fingernails leaving crescents in their wake against the back of his hands. Thankfully, the blood-driven Lord Dimitri had not reached Ferdinand first and yet, the look upon Byleth’s face when he had reached the auburn-haired cavalier was something like relief and exhaustion amalgamated into one. It had not been a long battle and yet Byleth looked as if he had fought it a hundred times.

“But he is alive. And is adjusting well.”

Byleth hummed a smile and the grip he had on his own hands relaxed somewhat. “Yes… some of the other students remembered his favourite tea and so I sat and spoke with him. He is still uncomfortable with being back at the monastery, but I hope that I can help.”

Seteth stood from his desk and walked around it, his fingers skimming over the edge of the polished desk. He kept his gaze fixed on the anxious archbishop, whose hands had stopped wringing nervously but were now simply held, fingers interlinked. He seemed lost in thought, his eyes flickering and darting across the floor as ideas, plans, proposals, schemes, gambits all raced through his mind. The emerald-haired man seemed unaware of Seteth now stood directly before him.

“Archbishop.”

Byleth did not react. His lips were pursed tightly, and he was sucking slightly through his teeth to pull his mouth taut. Seteth sighed.

_“Byleth.”_

The man lifted his gaze. His eyes met Seteth’s and he blinked a few times before smiling and breathlessly laughing. He reclined back in the plush seat, tilting his head back so the crown of his emerald hair hit the wooden wall. A hand came to wash down his face as if he were wiping away the uneasy expression.

“Apologies, Seteth… I am lost in thought once more,” he laughed incredulously, more to himself than the other.

“Byleth…” Seteth took the seat beside the archbishop and sat pensively, back straight and his hands closed into tight fists resting atop his thighs. He stared straight ahead at the opposing bookcase and tried to swallow over the growing lump of nerves forming in his throat. He tried to steady himself and took in a long breath through his nose until his diaphragm filled. Sitting beside the archbishop like this reminded him of the moon-lit night he had spent in the confessional booth with the other.

The way both men were rigid, holding something back from the other, the sound of silence suffocating both of them was almost the same as that night. Seteth’s stomach coiled hotly when he remembered how Byleth had fallen into his lap, face hot with tears, his halo of minty hair resting atop his thighs, so close to what was now already tenting in anticipation. He cursed himself. Further lashings would be needed if his body could not control itself simply by being around the archbishop.

But Seteth couldn’t ignore how his body ached to be closer to the other man. When they had sat similarly to how they were now, that night, there was a barrier between them: the wooden wall of the confessional booth. But in the warmth of his office with the sun streaming in through his large window, there was no barrier. All Seteth had to do was shift closer so that his thigh could brush against Byleth’s. Yet his face burned; how could such a simple act cause heat to rise to his face as if he were a blushing virgin? Given what he and the archbishop had already done, it seemed ridiculous to think that a simple touch of the thighs could make him feel so nervous.

“Seteth?” Byleth asked. Seteth blinked and turned his gaze at the archbishop who was gazing at him with a blank expression -as he always did- and yet, the corner of his mouth was drawn between his lips as if he were nervously biting at it.

“Yes?”

“Forgive me for asking this of you but… may I rest your head in your lap?”

The priest’s mouth fell open and staggered gasp came from his lips. His eyes widened and he almost jumped away from the other man. The archbishop laughed and scratched at his face with a single delicate finger, still speaking as Seteth reeled.

“That night… it was very comforting for me to have my head in your lap. I would very much like to rest my head there once more… my head is overcome with worrisome thoughts and so—”

The sound of the archbishop’s voice trailed off as Seteth stared, his cheeks now bright pink. His mouth had dried, and his tongue felt heavy as if he had been chewing on cotton. Had the archbishop really said something so indecent? Well, in all honesty, it wasn’t that it was indecent just very unbecoming of an archbishop. How ridiculous such a thing was, for the archbishop to rest his head in the lap of his most trusted advisor as if he were some child seeking comfort from his mother… or a lover from another—

Seteth immediately stopped himself. Though Byleth said his head was overcome, Seteth felt as though _his_ might explode any second. He wanted to bring the archbishop’s head into his lap, brush the hair from his eyes, admire his tall and porcelain forehead, gaze into his green eyes and lose himself in them. But the scandal of it all frightened him.

“Your Grace, I…” Seteth struggled to clear his throat, humming into his closed fist, eyes wrenched shut tightly. When he opened them, he almost groaned; Byleth was gazing at him like an expectant puppy. “I… It would be most unseemly if I were to allow such a thing—”

“Unseemly? To whom?”

“W-Well, to… anyone who might walk in.”

“Are you expecting visitors today?”

Seteth’s shoulders bunched up tighter and he scrunched up his nose, eyes still wide, brow heavily furrowed. No, he wasn’t expecting any visitors. He wasn’t even sure why he was trying to say no to the archbishop’s request. _He wanted it_. They both did. Perhaps it was the final shreds of his self-decorum and self-control that he was clinging desperately onto that was making him rebuke the archbishop. But when Byleth gazed at him so prettily like that, with his empty but vast green eyes glimmering…

Seteth couldn’t say no.

He grumbled, making it appear as if he did not want this as badly as he really did and shifted backwards, further into the softness of his recliner. He planted his feet firmly on the ground and kept his legs together so that his thighs formed a pillow. Seteth worried for a moment that his legs might not be that comfortable and thought about reaching for a cushion, but Byleth was already moving, putting his sandaled feet up onto the scarlet velvet of the seat and lay backwards, carefully manoeuvring himself so that his head could descend into Seteth’s lap.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion. The gentle uncurl of Byleth’s spine as he lay down, minty hair falling from his face as his eyes shone beautifully up at Seteth, catching in the sun’s light. His skin was so pale, _so immaculately pale_ , the priest was momentarily dazzled. He watched the other man lay down until the weight of Byleth’s head upon his thighs drew him back to the moment.

The other man was smiling, lop-sided as always but it was so undeniably handsome that Seteth didn’t care. He gazed at the archbishop in his lap and scowled again, looking up and away, afraid his face might redden further.

“Are you blushing, Seteth?”

Byleth’s voice was light and airy, teasing, with a lilt. Seteth refused to look down, knowing that if he did there would be a gentle playful smirk tugging at his lips. Those captivating rosy lips which he yearned to taste again, this time without the bitter salt of tears staining his palate—

“Yes, slightly. Th-This is an unsightly position to be caught in—”

“We will not be caught.”

“—most unbefitting of an archbishop—”

“Everything I _do_ is befitting of an archbishop because I am one.”

“—but _if we were caught_ , how would we explain ourselves?”

“My advisor is alleviating my headache. Regardless, I care not what others think.”

Seteth grumbled and covered his face and eyes with his hand, fingers and thumb sinking into his temples as he rubbed at the edges of his eyes. He could faintly hear Byleth laughing at his exasperation and as much as he outwardly groaned and grumbled, the breathy laugh filled him with joy. It was always a pleasure, almost a privilege, to hear the archbishop laugh and to have it in the privacy of his office, with only him as company, _well_ , Seteth couldn’t help but feel flattered.

“Such an enigma… will I ever have you figured out?”

Byleth laughed quietly again. “Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

Seteth allowed his eyes to open beneath the shield of his hand and met Byleth’s gaze. As expected, his lips were turned upwards into a much wider smile. It was almost symmetrical, no longer lop-sided. The archbishop was positively _beaming_ and Seteth’s heart fluttered in his chest again.

He had never seen a smile so broad upon the other man’s lips. He had never before seen the way his cheeks plumped from his smile and how his eyes crinkled, perhaps for the first time. His mouth felt full of cotton again and he cursed himself for leaving his water carafe at his desk, but he would not move Byleth’s precious head unless the world was ending.

“Dearest Seteth…” Byleth murmured. “I do wish you would relax sometimes.”

Seteth grumbled again and lowered the hand from his face so that it fell to his side, perilously close to some loose strands of mint hair just begging to be curled around his fingers. “How ironic such words fall from _your lips_ , Your Grace.”

The archbishop rolled his eyes and reached upwards with his hand. It found Seteth’s scorching face, red with embarrassment and the palm against his cheek was cool to the touch. He almost sighed with relief as if Byleth’s palm soothed a burn long seared into his skin. He had been blushing since Byleth had entered the room. If anyone was unseemly, it was him.

“You are so important to this monastery… and to me. I do not know what I would do without you. I am sure there are mountains of paperwork all filed and signed that I never knew existed and yet, you have completed everything so diligently.” Byleth’s hand remained upon Seteth’s cheek as he looked away from the priest at the pile of papers still atop the desk. “Even now, you work tirelessly. And I am so grateful for it… though I still do wish you would relax.”

Seteth hummed into Byleth’s palm, keening into it only ever so slightly, hoping that the weight of his head leaning into the archbishop’s palm wasn’t too noticeable. “If the archbishop cannot take a furlough, then his advisor cannot either.”

“Then if I did, you would too?”

Seteth blinked a few times and gazed curiously down at Byleth. His hand was still cool despite the scorch of Seteth's red face against his palm and his face was as calm as still rivers, almost unreadable. He wasn’t sure what to make of the archbishop’s words; was it merely a question, or an invitation?

“I… I suppose so. There would be little to do without you around to create work for me.”

Byleth laughed openly at Seteth’s words, his hand finally falling from Seteth’s face. It landed atop his stomach, folded neatly over the other above his white robe and golden sash, that glimmered intricately with fine needlework. His eyes crinkled again, and his white teeth dazzled; Seteth noticed they were immaculately straight and well-kept. Perhaps it was a blessing from the progenitor goddess, this heaven-like beauty.

“Oh Seteth, for such a dry man, you do make me laugh.”

Seteth grumbled again. _Dry? Truly?_ Is that what Byleth thought of him? Perhaps it was not unwarranted. Years upon years of servitude to Rhea and his position as the religious advisor had perhaps merited such a characterization of him. He also realised he did little else other than sign paperwork, pray, read, drink and sleep. He occasionally joined battles with the archbishop and the students, but that was at Byleth’s discretion. He felt that he was not needed all the time.

A part of him wished that he was.

“How is your head?”

“Mmh… still full of troublesome thoughts, though I am at ease here.” Byleth’s eyes slid shut and his lips curled upwards slightly into the gentlest of smiles. “I do hope I am not a burden to you, Seteth.”

“You could never be.” Seteth’s fingers twitched at his side as found the tips of Byleth’s hair, stroking against it, afraid he would frighten Byleth away like some scared animal. But the other man did not react, did not flinch and breathed steadily with his head resting in Seteth’s lap. The priest swallowed, took a brave breath and then raised his hand. It fell upon the crown of Byleth’s head, catching on the rim of his golden circlet. Slowly, as if the man were made of glass, he lifted the crown from the other’s head and set it aside.

Byleth seemed to deflate in his lap with the weight of his delicate crown gone from his head. The archbishop looked peaceful, as if he were asleep if not for the smile playing on his temptingly pale and thin lips. Seteth returned his hand and caressed the head of green hair, his fingers coming across the scalp, sweeping long silky strands away from the archbishop’s tall forehead.

It was high and immaculate, without a scar or blemish upon it. Seteth thought it a shame that the other man would hide it with his hair, but he thanked him it was long now so that he could sweep it away and continue to touch the archbishop. Any excuse would do at this point.

Seteth’s face relaxed into a smile mirroring Byleth’s; soft, a gentle upwards curve of the lips as he gazed down fondly at the other man, whose eyes were still closed. He was so besotted with Byleth, so impossibly enamoured by every ounce of his being. His beauty, his strength, his will, his grace, his kindness, his intellect, his… _everything_. Seteth could not list everything he found captivating about Byleth, knowing there would not be enough parchment in the world. He realised then that his heart was not racing; it was a steady beat in his chest, peaceful, at ease, comfortable and content whilst stroking the archbishop’s head of ocean-green hair.

“Seteth.” Byleth’s voice was quiet.

“Yes?”

“That night… in the cathedral… do you remember what I said when I left?”

Sliding his eyes shut, Seteth swallowed. “… I do.”

“Please, be honest…. has your opinion of me changed since that night?”

There was no point in lying. “… yes.”

When Seteth opened his eyes once more, he saw that Byleth’s lips were now pulled downwards instead of upwards. He _had_ to be honest. With himself. With _Byleth_.

“It has changed… for the better.”

Byleth’s green eyes fluttered open, bright and sparkling, vast but no longer empty – rather, curious. Seteth swallowed hard; he wasn’t sure he could speak his heart if he looked into the other’s earnest eyes. He turned his head to the side and spoke to the window at the back of his office, his hand stilling on Byleth’s head.

“Byleth… that night was… _please_ , do not misunderstand me, it was a difficult night for me. When you left, I searched for you, hoping to speak more with you and discuss what had happened but I could not find you. That night, I was wracked with guilt… I felt, and still do feel, as if I took advantage of you in your distresséd state, that you were not of a clear mind when we… did the things that we did.” The heat rose to his face once more but Seteth steeled himself, his toes curling in his shoes as he continued. “It is why I have not pursued anything further since that night. _Saints and Seiros_ , I wish to pursue things further with you… but I am afraid that your feelings have changed since then, that it was a mere tryst, and our political positions make me think twice about forging a relationship with you."

Seteth continued. “I have been… battling with my feelings too. It is most inappropriate for an advisor, for _me_ , to feel this way about you and yet my heart cannot ignore it any longer. Forgive me for ignoring you but I… I could not admit my own feelings to myself.”

Seteth swallowed, his heart tight in his chest, a thick lump in his throat that made his swallow beyond difficult. He kept gazing out the window, brow furrowed, and his lower lip drawn between his teeth where he bit hard at it. He could not bear to look down at Byleth’s face. He wasn’t sure what kind of expression he would wear. Happy? Confused? _Vacant?_

He turned his head, after several tortuously slow moments and found Byleth smiling at him. That lop-sided smile, beaming earnestly at him, green eyes sparkling. The archbishop’s gentle hand rose and came to cup Seteth’s cheek once more, settling against his skin as if the two were moulded to be against one another.

“Oh, _Seteth_ … I really do wish you would relax.”

The priest’s eyes widened, and he stammered out, “I-I beg your pardon?”

“All this needless worry, all this unnecessary concern and doubt that you have… you really think that night was _just_ a one-time tryst?”

“W-Well, I… that is to say that I thought—”

“To think that you have been so worried and overcome with such redundant thoughts when I thought I had made myself as clear as day to you.” Byleth’s thumb soothed back and forth over Seteth’s smooth cheek, the callous of the edge of his thumb scoring against the flush of his hot skin. “My affections for you are far beyond appropriate for an archbishop and his advisor and so that is why I hope that you will take me as something more.” Byleth’s other hand rose and he firmly held Seteth’s face in his palms, smiling like an angel up at the priest. _“Please.”_

All the breath in Seteth’s body left in a great whoosh when he heard that simple plea escape Byleth’s lips. He stared down at the other man who was as beautiful as he was strong. His thin eyebrows were sloped downwards with the gentility of his smile, emerald eyes searching emerald for any sort of answer. But Seteth could not speak.

“ _Flames_ , Seteth, say something,” Byleth half-laughed, amused by Seteth’s stunned silence. Finally, the priest moved, his fingers resting on Byleth’s head twitching before coming to clasp over one of Byleth’s that held his cheek.

“I… do not know what to say.”

“Then give me your answer. Will you have me?”

He replied quickly. “Yes. Always and forever.”

Byleth let out a happy sound, half caught between a gasp and a cry of happiness, pulling on Seteth’s face and lifting himself as best he could so that the two could meet. Their lips swept over one another’s briefly, so chastely it was barely there.

Seteth shuddered. Was this real? Had everything been a dream? Had he died in their last attack at the Great Bridge of Myrddin? No, he couldn’t have, because the light smell of flowers and parchment invaded his nose as he captured Byleth’s lips once more. The angle was awkward, both men ninety-degrees from the other but that didn’t make the kiss any less shattering.

Could he do this? Could he really have Byleth? Now, as a lover and not merely an archbishop? He did not deserve this, not at all. How would he cope? How would he be able to continue his work knowing that the man who practically ruled the continent was also his lover? There would be objections, of course, from leaders, emperors, dukes, and mages but Seteth thought, for the first time ever, _flames to them all_. He would strike them all down and he would have Byleth.

The idea of settling and allaying all opposition to his relationship with Byleth was swiftly pushed from his mind when Byleth raised himself up more so that he was practically sitting and Seteth had to lean to the side to keep their lips pressed. They broke for air, but only briefly so that Byleth could move onto his knees, tucking his legs beneath him and he laid his palms flat on Seteth’s shoulders, bringing him back in.

Angling his head properly this time, Seteth kissed his archbishop. The taste was indescribably _Byleth_ ; not quite sweet, not bitter but something wholly warm. The priest let his hand wander over the cushion of the recliner to Byleth’s thigh, dancing up his side to settle at his waist, giving him a gentle squeeze to urge him closer.

Byleth’s tongue danced across Seteth’s lower lip and he was thankful that he had danced this dance before with the other man. Still, it left him reeling as if electrified when their tongues touched and Byleth’s hot muscle swam eagerly to invade his mouth. Seteth groaned, exhaling heavily through his nose as their tongues tangled, swiping and sweeping over one another as desperation leaked into their movements.

He drew back for a moment to catch his breath, his face still a remarkable shade of crimson. He had been blushing far too long and was internally surprised to think there was enough blood left in his body, not simply settled in his face, to rush to his loins.

He leaned his head forward, his golden circlet pressing into the pale expanse of Byleth’s high forehead. He laughed breathlessly.

“First the cathedral, now my office,” he chuckled. “Where next will you defile?”

“Hopefully your bed.”

With a needy groan, Seteth’s eyes fluttered shut. He took in a steadying breath and his hand tightened at Byleth’s waist. Equally, the fingers placed upon his shoulders squeezed. He didn’t want to move in all honesty; as vulgar as it was, Seteth didn’t mind the thought of sullying the recliner in his office with Byleth’s scent and sweat. He wanted to take him here, _be taken here_ , and couldn’t bear the thought of drawing away from the other man so that they could move.

“Come,” Byleth said softly, sliding his legs out from underneath himself and standing. His hand followed down Seteth’s bicep until it came to the hand on his waist and he took it, drawing Seteth up to his feet. The pair stood and with an eager tug, Byleth led Seteth into the bedroom, through the door tucked away in the corner of Seteth’s office so subtly it blended in with the bookshelves. The golden knob turned and Seteth twisted it back shut behind him, locking it. He turned back to see Byleth stood in the centre of his room, at the foot of his bed, hands fiddling with the buttons of his robes.

It was a modest room, one befitting a serviceman to the church, though it was not without its luxuries. A large double bed sat in the middle of the room, adorned with immaculately pressed white sheets and a set of plump looking pillows. The curtains were drawn back to let in the sun and the window was slightly parted to let in the fresh air. The room was also spotless with not an inch of dust, dirt or untidiness about the place; every item of clothing was folded or hung, the mirror was without streaks and the flowers at the bedside table were beautifully abloom.

Seteth approached Byleth, eyes locked, and gave him a soft smile. “The things you do to me…” he laughed, cupping his face. “I lose all sense of decency when I am with you.”

The archbishop grinned; something more wicked and cheeky than a mere smile, the edges of his lips curling upwards and his nose crinkled merrily as his fingers worked over the front of his robes, unclasping the gold buttons. Seteth removed the golden sash draped over his archbishop’s shoulder, folding it neatly over his arm and he settled it atop the dresser. He would feel ashamed if he were to allow it to crinkle… despite what they had done to it before.

The robe fell open and Byleth shucked off the white outer layer, letting that fall to the floor in a heap. If he didn’t care about it, then neither did Seteth. Seteth’s fingers reached up, trembling ever so slightly as he tugged at the final barrier between himself and Byleth’s bare chest. He pulled at the buttons and as soon as he could, his hand slipped beneath the black fabric to skim over Byleth’s chest.

“Your hands are cold,” Byleth hissed.

“My apologies… I shall be sure to warm them up,” Seteth replied, pressing a kiss to Byleth’s cheek. He pushed forward, urging Byleth to walk backwards until the back of his knees hit the bed and he laid down upon it, supporting himself on one elbow as he brought Seteth with him, a hand tangling up into Seteth’s long green hair. Byleth’s fingers did not tug but merely soothed over his scalp, taking in gentle fistfuls but then carding the digits through the strands.

Seteth’s hand quickly became hungry and he shoved the black robe open so his eyes could finally land upon Byleth’s chest. That too was as unblemished and perfect as the rest of him. How had a man who had fought so much, for so long, come out almost completely unscathed? Seteth’s own body was marked with silver and pink scars, old and new, from battles aeons ago and days ago. But Byleth had not a scratch on him. The expanse of his chest was pale, almost glowing white where the sun’s rays hit him, and there was not a mark to be seen to mar his beauty.

“You’re beautiful,” Seteth mumbled. Byleth blinked a few times, perhaps confused, perhaps surprised by Seteth’s words but he said nothing, only offered him his smile. His hand tightened in Seteth’s hair and he urged him back down for another hungry kiss. The priest was more than happy to oblige, devouring Byleth’s lips and sliding his tongue immediately inside, resuming where they had just left off. He moved so that one knee slid up onto the bed between both of Byleth’s, one forearm flat against the sheets beside Byleth’s head so he could support himself and the other still greedily exploring and mapping out Byleth’s body.

The man was breathing heavily beneath him. Seteth could feel the quickened rise and fall of his chest beneath his hand and his fingers ghosted over a nipple. It was soft and flat, and his thumb pressed against it, rubbing into it until Byleth hummed contentedly and he felt it harden beneath the pad of his finger.

Seteth broke the kiss, breathing into the space between their lips and looked beneath his lashes down to where the nipple had now grown hard and was stood alert and pink. It seemed to call his name.

“Seteth… please, I cannot bear it…”

Byleth’s voice was breathy, a whisper, and every move of his lips wrapped around every syllable of his plea brushed his lips against Seteth’s. The priest hushed him as softly as he could and pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. Byleth tilted his head back and through his lashes, Seteth could see the other man’s eyes slide shut, breathing steadily through parted and kiss-swollen lips.

His heart was racing now. Before, it hadn’t been, but with the press of his hand against Byleth’s chest and hot body, Seteth couldn’t ignore the thrum of his pulse in his ears and temples. His own body was burning up too, the confines of his robes becoming almost too much to handle. He was sweating and already half-hard from mere kissing and light petting. He rubbed his cheek against Byleth’s, the prickle of his stubble sharp against the other’s jaw as he moved his lips lower, to the exposed expanse of Byleth’s smooth neck.

Taking in a steady breath, Seteth inhaled his archbishop’s scent. He couldn’t help the way his body shuddered, and his eyes almost rolled back into his head; he smelled so _good_. Like some type of flora and old dusty parchments and ink, like he had been hard at work. It seemed to drive Seteth wild, igniting something within him.

His mouth eagerly clamped down onto Byleth’s neck, sucking harshly without much thought. Byleth’s hands flew to Seteth’s hair, pulling and tugging, though not to tug him away but simply to have something to hold onto as his neck was attacked.

“Not where… others can see,” Byleth managed to gasp out, staggered in his breathing.

Seteth drew back a fraction, his lips slick with spit from sucking and biting at Byleth’s poor neck. There were small teeth marks and the skin had reddened but there would not be a lasting mark come morning. His stomach tightened and he wanted to leave salacious dark bruises along the archbishop’s neck where everyone in the cathedral would see. He wanted others to know that they now belonged to one another.

How quickly Seteth’s mind had changed. The mere prospect of being in a relationship with the archbishop before absolutely terrified him and conflicted with his morals. But seeing the professor’s blushing face, only slightly tinted pink, his body so honest and keening up into the palm soothing over his flat and chiselled stomach made him want to throw his morals out the window. He was no longer afraid. Knowing that Byleth returned his feelings gave him the strength that he needed. If Byleth loved him, then Seteth could face his fears.

Seteth danced his lips quickly away from Byleth’s open neck before he marked him. His mouth closed over Byleth’s pert nipple and the archbishop arched off the bed, gasping sharply.

“Oh! _Seteth_!” 

The priest hummed deeply, his lips vibrating and sending slight vibrations through Byleth’s chest. Seteth’s hands came to Byleth’s robe and he helped pull his arms free so that the garment just remained against the bed and all of Byleth’s upper body was exposed to him. He realised it was the first time he had been bare before him and Seteth simply had to draw back so he could take in the masterpiece lying beneath him.

The greatest artists in all of Fódlan could not have painted nor carved anything as beautiful as Byleth’s body. He was made of muscle, soft and strong simultaneously. His biceps were not all that prominent, only gentle bulges of strength, and his shoulders had only rounded a little, but his chest and stomach were hard and sculpted from years of training. Seteth’s breath felt tight in his throat.

His hands were smoothing out over Byleth’s stomach, grazing over the hem of his breeches when the cracked voice of the archbishop graced his ears.

“You are wearing… far too much,” he said, a smirk quirking at his lips. He was still breathless from Seteth’s attack and suddenly the priest was all too conscious of how much he was still wearing.

“We should fix that,” he said, climbing up onto the bed to straddle Byleth’s legs, sitting up on his knees as Byleth sat up too, hands coming up to unbutton Seteth’s robes.

“Yes… we should,” he replied, fingers as nimble and deft as the night in the cathedral as he undid Seteth’s robe. Starting at his Adam’s apple, Byleth fingers worked quickly, dancing down to his stomach and he opened the robe to expose Seteth’s chest. The centre was bristled with some hair, green and curly, unruly in its growth but Byleth seemed not to mind, his hands sweeping over Seteth’s stomach, nipples, and broad shoulders. He was larger than Byleth, wyvern riding and axe-wielding had made his shoulders large and strong with muscle.

“To think… you have been hiding such a body from me for so long,” Byleth mused, kissing over Seteth’s marked shoulders, slivers of silver scars reaching down into his armpits where equally unruly green hair peeked out. Byleth’s lips were soft, impossibly soft and still plump against Seteth’s skin and he breathed happily. Each kiss was a delight upon him, soft and slightly damp where the air floating through the window cooled the spit and he could feel each spot against his skin.

“It is… not something to be beheld,” Seteth replied, his hands coming around Byleth’s shoulders to explore his back. As expected, it was equally unmarked and unblemished, without a single scar, spot, or mark. 

“ _Nonsense_ ,” Byleth breathed, rocking his hips up against Seteth’s as he spoke. The priest jolted and his fingers clutched tightly at Byleth’s back for a moment, stunned and startled by the hard press of the archbishop’s cock against his backside. He swallowed over the lump in his throat with great difficulty and stared down at the man beneath him.

This was happening. This _truly_ was happening. Seteth’s heart leapt in his chest a little, a mixture of excitement and fear coursing through his veins. He would be… _intimate_ with Byleth. He couldn’t even think the word, let alone say it out loud… and the thought of committing the act made him bubble up fiercely with apprehension. The press of Byleth’s arousal against him startled him back to reality, where he knew that soon, he would be intimate with another person for the first time in centuries. He was nervous about how he would perform; would he be up to Byleth’s standards? What if he wasn’t? How experienced was the professor? An accumulation of worrisome thoughts swirled about in Seteth’s minds and he stared, almost blankly down at Byleth.

_“Seteth.”_

Ah. He had been caught.

“Apologies… I am—”

“Lost in thought? You appeared worried.” Byleth’s voice was gentle, so soft and understanding as his hands moved around Seteth’s middle and he caressed his lower back. His hands were calloused but gentle against his bare skin and he sighed quietly.

“You can see straight through me,” he admitted. “Yes… I was… _I am._ ”

Byleth was quiet for a few long moments and then looked up at Seteth, holding his gaze, as if he could read his mind. “Apologies for this question Seteth but… have you ever taken another man?”

The priest burned bright red and his shoulders bunched up about his ears, inhaling sharply through his nose. “N-No! Never!”

“Has another man ever… _taken you_?”

If it were possible, Seteth turned an even darker shade of red and covered his face and mouth with one hand. Such shameful questions! But he could not fault Byleth for asking them; he was curious about Byleth’s history too. Seteth averted his gaze and his one brow twitched as he mumbled out an answer from behind his hand. “N-No.”

Byleth’s smile was broad and bright and it lifted some of the tension weighing upon Seteth’s shoulders. He didn’t seem to care about Seteth’s lack of experience and with a gentle calloused hand skimming up from his lower back and over his shoulder to cup Seteth’s face, he guided the priest’s green eyes back to meet his. Byleth’s eyes were deep, bright and shimmering as they searched through Seteth’s own, as if he were trying to reassure him.

“It’s alright, Seteth.” Byleth leaned up and kissed Seteth’s chin, up to his jaw and the corner of his mouth. With his nose, he brushed some of Seteth’s hair away from his ear and whispered. “Perhaps you should be the one to take me first.”

His heart stopped. Time altogether stopped. Seteth’s breath caught violently in his throat and his fingers sank deeper into Byleth’s smooth back. He couldn’t possibly… have just offered his body up to Seteth, could he? But the teeth nipping at the tip of his elongated ear and hot breath washing through him made him realise that Byleth had done _just that_. He let out a staggered breath and tried to speak.

“B-Byleth… are you… s-sure…?”

“Yes… it will be far less daunting for you…” the archbishop leaned up and ran his tongue over the long shell of Seteth’s ear, earning a delightful shiver and groan and he spoke once more, “and I prefer it that way too.”

Seteth drew back from Byleth, gripping him forcefully by the shoulders and staring at the slightly small man with a hard and serious expression. “You are sure?”

Byleth huffed a laugh through his nose and nodded. “Yes. Of course.”

Seteth sighed and leaned his forehead forward, realising he was still wearing his circlet as he felt the cold gold press into Byleth’s hair covering his forehead. “O-One day… I shall be sure to return the favour to you—”

“Seteth, this isn’t a contract to be honoured… I am doing this because I want to. Now please, hurry and undress me.”

Taking a quick breath to steady himself, Seteth nodded and let his hands skim down Byleth’s body, to his hips. Byleth wormed away from his touch with a teasing cat-like grin, shifting further up to the bed so that they were no longer dangling precariously close to the edge. His head of green hair finally met the soft plump whiteness of the pillows and he sank into them as if he were on clouds, his skin so tantalizingly pale he seemed to glow against the sheets.

Seteth’s hands skimmed over the lithe body presented before him, so vulnerable and yet so trusting in how bared it was under his calloused hands. How he had _dreamed_ of touching this body and feeling the stomach muscles quiver beneath his fingertips. How he had dreamed of seeing Byleth’s face with an expression other than emptiness; now flushed a dusty pink with a hint of embarrassment twinkling with desire in the bite of his lower lip. He had to keep reminding himself that this was all real.

His hands came down to Byleth’s breeches, tied with a simple corded rope knot. He pulled at it slowly, waiting for the moment Byleth would stop him, but the knot came free and still, nothing had been said. The archbishop lifted his hips off the bed which prompted Seteth to take a hold of both Byleth’s breeches and smallclothes, tugging them over the gentle curve of his behind so his thighs. His eyes followed the garments all the way down the slender but strong legs, taking care to unhook them from his feet, kissing Byleth’s knee as he lowered it back to the bed and discarded the last garment.

He almost couldn’t bring his eyes up to look at Byleth’s truly naked form, afraid he would be smitten by the Goddess for his impiety and sacrilege. But as his eyes roamed over Byleth’s hairless legs, to the tempting swell of his inner thighs, he couldn’t ignore it any longer and lifted his eyes.

Byleth’s cock was exactly what he had expected and yet everything more; a reasonable size, with a flushed pink tip, shining with precum and a neatly trimmed patch of teal coloured hair about his pubic bone. Seteth’s mouth felt dry as he gazed down at it, hands skimming over Byleth’s thighs.

“You are _beautiful_ ,” he murmured reverently.

“Please, _touch me_ ,” Byleth pleaded, his cheeks a brighter shade of pink than before. Moving almost automatically, Seteth’s hand came up to wrap around Byleth’s cock and he was shocked by how comfortable it felt in his palm. It was a pleasant weight and he could just feel the tips of his fingers against themselves as his palm curled around it. He experimentally stroked upwards, drawing down on the foreskin to expose more of the pink tip and Byleth hissed.

Seteth would have thought he had hurt him if not for the way his mouth fell into an open ‘O’ shape and his head rolled back further into the pillow.

He continued to move his one hand, the other stroking at Byleth’s inner thigh soothingly. The archbishop pushed his legs further apart for Seteth, drawing the priest’s attention down his hairless balls. He would not have thought the archbishop to be a man who groomed himself so intimately, but it made his dry mouth water with want. He shifted on the bed, so he was comfortably positioned between Byleth’s legs and his hand kept pumping at the weeping cock.

“Seteth, _Seteth_ …” Byleth whispered over and over again like a prayer.

Angling his hand forward more, Seteth shifted the pumping cock and leaned down with his mouth between Byleth’s legs so his bare chest was flush to the bed. He thought himself a depraved and filthy man when he inhaled deeply, taking in Byleth’s scent. It was not as thick nor unpleasant as he had thought it might be: the smell of warmth, sweat and arousal was what graced his nose.

“Byleth,” Seteth breathed and the archbishop opened his eyes and tilted his chin downwards. He met Seteth’s gaze and immediately groaned, eyes going half-lidded with desire. He reached down for the priest’s green hair and swept some of the locks from Seteth’s face, sweeping over his sharp eyebrow. His hand was soft, neither encouraging nor discouraging, merely remaining there, allowing Seteth to take his time.

He parted his lips and ran his tongue up along the centre of Byleth’s soft balls. He could feel the slight fuzz reforming graze against his slightly dry tongue but Byleth groaned all the same. The angle made his hand’s movement a little awkward too, but again, Byleth just continued to groan. Swallowing and attempting to wet his mouth and tongue, Seteth tried again.

He lolled his tongue out and licked a long stripe up from Byleth’s perineum up to the base of his cock and Byleth’s hand tightened in his hair. He groaned against the sensitive skin of Byleth’s balls and closed his lips around one, sucking softly. He had never done this before – the thought had never even crossed his mind – but Byleth seemed to be enjoying what he was doing and that was all that he could ask for.

He pointed his tongue and pressed it firmly into Byleth’s balls and the archbishop’s legs rose into the air. He bent them at the knee and rolled further down the bed, exposing his ass to Seteth and allowing him more access to his balls.

“M-More, _more_ ,” Byleth pleaded unashamedly.

Seteth happily obliged, licking long stripes with his flattened tongue over Byleth’s balls, his hand and mouth working in tandem to bring Byleth pleasure. From his peripheral vision, he could see the muscles in Byleth’s legs working, flexing and unflexing as his toes curled continuously. He was panting with his mouth just slightly parted.

“Seteth, please… I want you to…”

The unfinished sentence hung in the air and Seteth drew back from the spit-slicked balls and slowed his hand to look up at Byleth. Was he asking him to…?

Byleth reached a hand over to Seteth’s bedside drawer and rummaged around in it as if it were his own. He grumbled impatiently until he groaned aloud and clutched at his own hair tightly. “You have no oil?”

“I…” Seteth began. “I… have never had the need for it before now.”

“Do you have anything?” Byleth’s voice was bordering on impatient and the bossy tone he took on almost made his restlessness endearing.

“P-Perhaps I have some bath oil in the—"

“Yes! Goddess, _please_ , Seteth, quickly,” Byleth ordered, one hand still tangled in his own hair, brows knitted together in frustration. The priest did not need to be told twice and so headed to his adjacent washroom, grabbing the first vial of oil he saw sitting at his sink. It was new, uncorked and still tied with a pink ribbon. He returned to the bed quickly, turning the tiny glass bottle over in his hands.

“Are you sure this is suitable for—”

“Yes, Seteth, _yes_ … please, hurry, I need you… _I need you_ …” Byleth was pleading, his chest heaving. Seteth had never seen the archbishop look so weak before; he was completely at Seteth’s mercy and were he a cruller man, he might have made the archbishop beg, teased him a little longer and prolonged his suffering, but the beseeching expression on his face and the way his pupils were blown so wide they completely eclipsed his emerald irises made Seteth act quickly.

He tore the cork out and poured some oil into his palm. He set the bottle aside and slathered a single digit in the oil. Now, Seteth was not a prude; he had made love plenty of times before -to a single woman, centuries upon centuries ago- but he was not sure how much oil would be needed and so he thoroughly coated his index finger. Byleth watched him the entire time.

“I have never… let me know if I hurt you.”

Byleth swallowed quickly and nodded, keeping his knees raised so Seteth could see his exposed hole. It looked impossibly tight, like a puckered kiss. How on earth was his finger, let alone his cock, supposed to fit in there?

But it was so temptingly pink that Seteth thought he could at least try.

He brought his index finger to Byleth’s hole, circling it tentatively a few times, enjoying the apprehensive shivers he elicited from the archbishop. He kept this motion up a few moments, watching as the puckered hole twitched beneath his touch before breaching. He took in a breath and pushed his finger in to the first knuckle, surprised by how easily his digit slipped inside. Perhaps it was the oil.

Byleth made a small grunting sound of affirmation and fixed Seteth with a strong gaze, nodding. Seteth steadied himself and eased the digit in more, eyes flickering quickly between Byleth’s pleasured expression and the way his finger slid inside the other man.

If he had told his past self that he would one day have his fingers buried deep inside his own archbishop, he would perhaps have flogged himself for the rest of his life for such sacrilege.

But here it was happening, and he couldn’t even begin to think about flogging himself. All he could think of was drawing his finger back out, slowly, as carefully as he could, and then pushing it back in. Byleth’s hips rocked down against the single-digit and he hummed pleasantly between his pursed lips.

“ _More_ … add another.”

Seteth hurriedly withdrew his finger and Byleth whined. He cursed himself. Of course, Byleth would want more fingers, he would need to be stretched out in preparation for him. He shivered at the thought, his breeches tenting and stained at the front a darker shade of blue, but this was not about him. It was all about serving his archbishop, his Byleth.

He coated his two fingers liberally and slid the first finger back inside comfortably. He pumped a few times before hesitantly adding a second, feeling the ring of muscle constrict around both his fingers tightly. Byleth hissed and Seteth stopped to watch his face. His brows were knitted together, and he had his lip drawn between his teeth, but he was not pushing him away or crying out in pain and so Seteth persisted.

With a steady push, he had two digits deep inside of Byleth, his index and middle fingers. He curled them inside the other man experimentally and felt his cock jump in his smallclothes when Byleth’s body bucked off the bed, a hoarse moan torn from his throat.

“Oh, _flames_ , Seteth… a-almost…”

Seteth drew his fingers back and then pushed them back in steadily, slowly, feeling how tight Byleth’s hole was around his finger. The archbishop hissed through his teeth again and he wiggled his hips against the bedsheets, trying to find a more comfortable and pleasurable position for Seteth’s fingers when he pushed them in and curled them again.

Byleth’s hands flew to the sheets beside him and he fisted the fabric tightly in his hands when Seteth twitched his fingers inside. His mouth fell open into a perfect ‘O’ and with his head thrown back, Seteth could see the perfect pale expanse of the other man’s throat, his collarbones dotted with tiny pink and red marks from his lips and teeth which would surely fade in a few hours.

But _ohyes… hah_ , ah…!”

“Byleth… you are… tight…” Seteth grit out. He wasn’t sure why he spoke. He simply felt like he had to say something. It was the truth after all; even as he continued to scissor his fingers, selfishly and shamefully enjoying the stretch of Byleth’s slightly looser hole, he was still tight. And the thought of being buried deep inside that tightness made Seteth’s heart stop in his chest and his cock twitch impatiently again.

“Hah, hurry… please, take me Seteth, _take me._ ”

The priest did not need to be told twice. Without thinking, he wiped his oily fingers against the white bedsheets and unclasped his golden belt and buckle, throwing it to the ground without a care. He shoved his breeches down and clumsily shuffled out of them though neither man seemed to care.

“Wait.”

Seteth hesitated when Byleth spoke, hands placed flat over the other’s knees, ready to take him. Byleth’s hands moved from the bedsheets down and over Seteth’s slim but muscled hips, skimming down until he firmly grasped the priest’s cock. Seteth choked back a groan and shut his eyes tightly. Yes, his hands were still warm, still _so warm_. 

Byleth gave Seteth a few pumps, his hand’s movements quick and haphazard and when Seteth opened his green eyes again, he could see how truly wrecked the archbishop already looked. His hair was askew, a total mess from writhing and tossing against the pillow, his body smattered with rose petal kisses and bites, glistening almost silver with sweat under the sun’s rays shining through the bedroom window, pink hole slightly stretched and dripping with oil.

“Y-Yes?” Seteth croaked out, throat dry.

“I just wanted to see you first. I have never seen you completely bare before.”

Seteth hummed and nodded, Byleth’s hand still stroking over his throbbing erection. It felt _so good_ to have his archbishop’s hand touching him once again; he had spent so many nights remembering how good it had felt to have his cock grinding up and pressed against Byleth’s, with the other’s calloused hand stroking them both to completion. It was a fantasy he often used during his lonely nights.

But it didn’t have to be a fantasy for much longer. They would be together, as an item, as a couple… _courting_. They would be able to do such things as many times as they liked.

His heart swelling, Seteth nervously shifted up onto his knees once more and pushed Byleth’s own further apart. All sense of modesty and shame were long gone from Seteth’s mind as he gazed down at Byleth’s beautiful body. He truly was a gift from the Goddess, stunning in every capacity; strong and slim, sweaty and shy but still, _oh so beautiful_. 

“I have… never… t-taken a man before,” Seteth managed out. “Please… tell me if I…”

“Seteth, I trust you… I know that you will be more than satisfactory,” Byleth said, skimming his hands up over Seteth’s tense forearms, trying to soothe the anxious priest. His hands came to rest over Seteth’s atop his own knees, giving him a reassuring squeeze as he attempted to slide further down the bed and raise his knees just that little more to make it easier for Seteth.

“Th-Thank you… though that is not what I am worried about… please tell me if it too much.”

Byleth nodded and fixed Seteth with his trademark awkward smile. Seteth wasn’t sure if he could take it much longer; seeing that awkward and earnest smile just as he was about to take his archbishop, take _Byleth_ , it made his heart leap through his chest. A whole-body shudder wracked through his entire being and his teeth clattered against one another. He tried to steady himself once more.

“Alright, then I-I shall…”

Seteth took up the bottle and uncorked it, spreading whatever was remaining over his twitching cock. He would rather have too much than too little and so slathered it over his aching dick, using whatever was left to run his hands over Byleth’s thighs, perineum and tight balls. He could see they were drawn up and his pretty cock laying flat against his stomach, still beading with precum.

Giving himself one or two experimental strokes, Seteth finally lined himself up. He could delay it no longer. He could deny _himself_ no longer, he _had_ to take Byleth. Watching the archbishop’s face intently, Seteth eased in, the head of his cock pushing inside of Byleth. The green-haired man beneath him inhaled sharply and his eyes blew wide and for a moment, Seteth thought he had hurt the other man. But when Byleth drew his lip between his teeth, exhaled deeply through his nose and his stunning green eyes rolled back into his head, he took it as a sign to continue.

Inch after inch, Seteth buried himself to the hilt inside of Byleth. All his breath left his body, as if stolen away by the Goddess herself. He almost collapsed atop Byleth, catching himself on both his palms flat on either side of the archbishop’s body. Seteth hung his head and tried to breathe through the pleasure gripping tightly around his cock.

He had anticipated hurting Byleth, anticipated underperforming, and all manner of awful things but _this_ … the sheer inferno wrapped tightly around his cock, hotter than anything he had felt in decades sent him reeling. It was… _divine_. Byleth’s body was other-worldly, a cataclysm of fire scorching so hot beneath Seteth that he could feel the heat radiating from the other’s body. 

“ _Flames_ , Byleth… f-flames…”

“Seteth, you can… _hah_ , move.”

The priest nodded and shakily, arms already trembling, he drew back and thrust back into Byleth. Both men cried out, overwhelmed by the heat, tightness and stretch of the push. Seteth began to move his hips back and forth, slowly getting accustomed to Byleth’s body.

“Ah… _Seteth_ …”

The whisper of his name escaping Byleth’s lips sent a shudder through the priest’s body. Seteth shifted down further, bracing himself on his forearms and elbows, trapping his archbishop’s body beneath him, framing the other’s face with his forearms. He kept his head hung, for the time being, eyes fluttering open and closed, unable to do much else other than thrust steadily into Byleth’s wanting body.

The archbishop beneath him moaned with such fervour, Seteth could not believe that it was _him_ drawing those noises out of the other man. High-pitched moans, trembling with a pleasurable vibrato, giving way to a _mezzo-forte_ cry of Seteth’s name, tumbling beautifully from his pink tongue. 

His pace began to quicken, thrusting quicker into Byleth’s body, the slide of his cock slick and smooth with the copious amount of oil dripping between them. It rolled down Byleth’s skin, to the bed sheets, which were already damp with sweat.

Finally, Seteth lifted his head to look at Byleth. The archbishop’s mouth was hanging open and he could see his lips were dry and unkissed. He leaned up, his thrusts making his lips bump clumsily against Byleth’s in a sloppy and awkward way, brushing against the corner of his mouth, his chin, his cheek, his jaw. But neither seemed to care for the time being, Byleth’s arms finally moving from beneath his own knees, to wrap around Seteth’s neck, hands clawing for respite against the holy man’s skin.

“Oh, _flames_ … Byleth, _Byleth_ …”

“Seteth… y-yes, just a little m-more… _please_!”

With a jolting thrust, Seteth slammed into Byleth. The archbishop threw his head back and his entire body arched up off the bed, fingernails sinking so deeply into Seteth’s back he thought they might carve into his skin.

“There! _There_!”

Seteth had no idea what Byleth meant but repeated the motion, which was precisely what the other wanted. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as Seteth slammed back in against the same spot, hips now pistoning without abandon as he tried to draw more sweet noises from Byleth’s throat. Initially, the priest was afraid the archbishop was too loud but then he realised he simply did not care.

If others could hear their lovemaking, then they would know they were an item. If others could hear the tremolo in Byleth’s voice, then they would know exactly what they meant to one another.

“Byleth, _Byleth_ …” Seteth whispered like a prayer reverently, stubble brushing over Byleth’s jaw.

As if it were the final straw, Byleth’s hooked his legs around Seteth’s middle, locking him in place, effectively cradled in the priest’s strong arms. The archbishop felt so small to him at that moment, so precious, like someone to be protected and Seteth whimpered uncharacteristically against Byleth’s jaw. His lips crushed messily back against Byleth’s, tongue diving greedily past the other’s lips to tangle and dance with the other’s.

He wanted to protect him. He wanted to love him. More than wanted; Seteth _had_ to.

“I am… almost at my l-limit, Byleth…” Seteth panted, eyes searching the other’s. The edges of his vision were clouded by a thick haze, lust and desire swimming through his vision. His blood was racing, thundering in his temples and fluttering so violently he could feel it beating in his throat.

“Oh, _please_ …” Byleth pleaded. Seteth wasn’t sure what for, but he was going to give him everything regardless. The archbishop was wrecked, the image of pleasurable ruin; hair slicked with sweat, pupils blown so wide they eclipsed his stunning emerald irises, his body pliant but sticky and flushed pink, and his _hole_ , oh flames, it was so impossibly tight, as if it were milking Seteth of every ounce of his being.

“I c-cannot… much longer…”

“You m-must… _just a l-little…_ ”

Seteth grunted lowly, teeth gritting as he hung his head, pressing it against Byleth’s shoulder. The archbishop removed one of his hands, snaking it between their bodies to fist his own cock and pump it furiously. Seteth would have done it himself but his arms were so tense they were locked, trembling with the effort of keeping himself above Byleth’s beautiful body. His hips kept pistoning, the slap of his thick wyvern-riding thighs against Byleth’s cheeks making indecent sounds that tickled his eardrums. He might have thought such noises disgusting, but he wanted to _drown_ in the noise in that heated moment.

“I’m… I’m going to— _Byleth! Oh_ , Byleth!”

Seteth’s whole body lurched forward as he unexpectedly climaxed. With no other choice, he came inside of Byleth. His cock erupted, balls emptying deeply inside of his archbishop. His hips were flush to Byleth’s sticky skin, dick twitching as wave after wave of white-hot pleasure washed over him. Darkness eclipsed his vision as he wrenched his eyes shut, a guttural and instinctual growl rumbling through his chest as he came.

“Seteth…! I can f-feel it… oh, _oh my G-Goddess…_ ”

Byleth’s breathing was erratic, almost hyperventilating and his hand was flying so fast over his own cock it was almost a blur. He pumped himself as quickly as he could, drawing the foreskin back and forth over the crown of his leaking prick, hips bucking into his palm that made Seteth’s own cock twitch with post-orgasmic bliss.

Byleth cried out brokenly, a moan crumbling into a weak and wretched hiss between his teeth, mixed with curses and whispers of Seteth’s name. The priest allowed the archbishop’s breathing to wash over him, eyes still closed as he tried to support himself. His heart was pounding in his chest and his forearms were shaking. He could feel the ache in his thighs now too, as his body steadily came down, his post-orgasmic bliss ebbing away like a gentle wave.

“Byleth…” he whispered, managing to draw enough energy forth to kiss Byleth’s shoulder. The archbishop hummed weakly and his legs fell away, ankles untangling from around Seteth’s back and they fell flat against the bed.

“Seteth… _hah_ …” the archbishop smiled. Seteth’s whole body was shaking and he could barely find it in him to support himself on his forearms much longer and so pushed with his final ounce of energy to Byleth’s side, laying on the archbishop’s right, both men equally breathless.

So, this was it. He had confessed his feelings. They _both_ had. They had consummated their love… even though they were unwed. If only the rest of the church knew that their head priest had had sex with another person -another _man_ nonetheless- out of wedlock, they would make a martyr out of him.

But Seteth would willingly die for his love for Byleth.

They lay in silence for a few long moments, the rise and fall of their chests becoming synchronized as they steadily came down. Byleth’s eyes were open and he turned his head to look at Seteth, a hand across his chest and the other laying flat against the bed beside his head.

“Seteth…”

“Hah…” Seteth breathed, his eyes still closed, exhaustion washing over him. “I hope I… did not hurt you.”

“Certainly not,” Byleth replied softly, his hand coming up to gently play with some lone wisps of Seteth’s verdant hair. “It was the best sex I have ever had.”

Seteth’s cheeks turned red but he still swelled with pride. “… thank you, Byleth. I am… very glad.” He opened his eyes slowly and tried his best to grin despite his embarrassment. “It was… some of the most passionate love-making I have endured for centuries, too.”

His awkward smile crossed his lips, still one-sided but so handsome. Seteth could become accustomed to this; gazing at Byleth’s beautiful naked form, but his eyes were firmly locked on the other’s stunning face. His eyes were bright, his pupils now back to normal and Seteth could revel in the beauty of those glimmering emerald orbs. His cheeks were still a light pink colour, his lips rosy and matching but this time slicked with a mixture of his saliva and Byleth’s own. Taking Byleth’s hand in his own, he drew the back of the other’s knuckles to his lips and kissed over each one in turn.

“We should bathe,” Byleth eventually said, turning to look towards the window. The sun was still high in the sky but had shifted so that soon the sunset would be upon them. “It will be time for dinner soon.”

“Mmh… yes, I agree,” Seteth said, chuckling gently. “Though, I do not wish to move.”

“Neither do I but the feeling of your seed trickling down my thighs is _slightly_ uncomfortable.”

Seteth rubbed a hand over his face and groaned, turning red against with embarrassment. “Please, do not say such things.”

Byleth grinned cheekily, turning onto his side so he could finally face Seteth properly, tucking his knees into his stomach with a wince as a chill ran through his body. “Why not? You had best become accustomed to me saying such things if we are to make love again.”

“Ah, archbishop, _please_ …”

Byleth hummed and placed a hand to Seteth’s cheek. “No, not archbishop. _Byleth_.”

Seteth smiled serenely and placed one of his own strong hands atop Byleth’s own on his face, keening into the touch. “Yes. _Byleth. My_ Byleth.”

The other man smiled and sighed. “I shall forgive this transgression if you carry me to the bath.” He winked at the end and Seteth tutted, shaking his head.

“I do not believe I have ever served such a needy archbishop and lover… though I am sure I will become accustomed to it.” He said, kissing the heel of Byleth’s palm softly, one last time. “I must.”

**Author's Note:**

> I also have a third and final piece planned for this mini 'series'... one where Seteth takes Byleth!


End file.
